


Blast From The Past

by LoonyLoomy



Series: Anarchist, Thief, Demolitionist, Hero? [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Puns, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, One Shot, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLoomy/pseuds/LoonyLoomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat hasn't been in the team for very long, but that won't deter Tracer from trying to get him to be more involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blast From The Past

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly cannot get enough of this stupid firecracker, so I asked for Junkrat-centric fic requests and someone suggested Junkrat & Tracer! I've sort of written him in a redemption arc-y type place here 'cause that's some good stuff, good stuff right there.
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy! And if you'd like to see me do anything else similar (or, indeed, completely different), hit me up. Any ships, any rating, s'all good for me.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr [here](http://loonyloomy.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk to me or just see a bunch of posts about Junkrat :')

“Hey, Junkrat? Mind if I have a word?” Tracer asked, popping her head through the open door to see Junkrat surrounded by metal bits and bobs in the base’s workshop.

He turned towards her in his seat cheerfully. “’Ello, guv’nah! I say, old bean, frightfully good weather we’re having, ey?” he said with a grin and the most overly-exaggerated British accent possible.

Tracer rolled her eyes but decided to just move on. “Athena asked you to report to Winston’s lab, you know.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right! Thought I was forgettin’ something.”

“She’s asked you _five times_ already.”

With a wave of his hand, he replied, “Yeah, yeah, look, mate, I kept hearing it when I was in the middle of assembling one of my mines, so I figure, I’ll go when I’m right good and finished with it, but then by the time I’m done, it’s out of my mind and I’m movin’ onto the next one. Can’t blame me for that, can ya?”

Tracer pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling for a few moments. “Yes you can,” she said. “But no worries, luv, thought I’d come down here and talk to you myself instead.”

“Aww, you’re too kind. So, hey, Sheila, I think I might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with you, which I know _full well_ from experience”—he stuck his peg leg up in the air and laughed a little— “is no good thing. So I was wonderin’ if we could start over, and…”

“I’m not going to give you one of my pulse bombs, Junkrat.”

His face remained frozen for a split-second before he slumped back into the chair and huffed. “Well then, what _are_ you here for?” he said with a far less friendly tone.

“Well. Firstly, thanks for all of your help at King’s Row; you were a great asset to the team, you know.”

His lips stretched out across his face, gold tooth catching a glint of light. “And that paycheck was a great help to the Junkers, so cheers to you too.”

Tracer sighed inwardly. None of Overwatch’s ideals of hope, justice and selflessness in a response like that, no sirree. But no one was born a hero, so she put a smile on her face and pressed on. “Winston and I wanted to know if you and Roadhog would come along to our next mission.”

“Do we get to blow up more robots?” he asked eagerly.

“No, no, luv, it’s actually Numbani we’re being assigned to—”

“What?! You’ve been trying to come the raw prawn with me!”

Tracer blinked. “I’ve been trying to what-now?”

“No way am I going to that _joke_ of a city! The only thing those bloody Omnics are good for is scrap, and actin’ otherwise makes you even more insane than _I_ am!”

“Winston was worried you’d act like this. We’re only going as a precaution, and honestly, I think seeing how amazing all the technology there is will do you good! Can’t you at least give it a chance?” She raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes to hit him with her puppy-dog look.

Junkrat held her gaze for a couple of seconds before breaking away with a frown. “Nah, mate.”

Alright, if her idealism wasn’t going to work, it was time to try and talk his language. “If you were there, I’m certain we could negotiate some great incentives for you. You could even call them...incendiary-entives?”

He side-eyed her. “If that was meant to be a bomb pun, it was _completely_ mediocre.”

“Think about it, Junkrat! With all the enhancements we could get, I bet you could knock up a concussion mine that rivals D.Va’s MEKA explosion! Unless you’re not big enough to rise to the challenge?” She leaned forward with her hands on her hips, a lilting tone in her voice. “And, of course, that’s not including the pay we have on offer.”

Junkrat jumped out of his seat and pointed a finger at her. “I can see exactly what you’re trying to do, missy, and I ain’t having it!” He sniffed. “Besides, my mines are perfect as they are; I bet I could even use ‘em to get anywhere quicker than you and your silly little Blinks, peg leg and all.”

Tracer straightened and gave him a smirk. “Try me.”

“Eh?”

“If you’re _that_ confident about them… We’ll have a race. You, me, in the practice range. First one to do a full lap wins. Test out how perfect your mines _really_ are,” she giggled.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re on.”

“Wicked! And now to make it interesting. If I win, you have to come to Numbani with us.”

 “Oh yeah? And if I win?”

She hesitated, but there was only really one option for a fair trade-off. “You can have a look at my pulse bombs.”

“…Deal.”

They shook hands, both with fiery determination in their eyes (and, for Junkrat, in his hair).

 

* * *

  

Tracer stood at the end of the practice range, out of breath but with a wide smile on her face nonetheless. That had been…a lot more fun than she’d expected. She wouldn’t have thought she’d ever want to share any similarities with a criminal like Junkrat, but feeling him give off the same _joie de vivre_ that she had meant the race had been full of laughs, close calls, and some great back-and-forth banter.

Junkrat leapt up to the platform she was standing on, wiping sweat and ash from his brow and intoning a low, “Hooley dooley…” as he finally caught up with her.

“Looks like you’ll be joining us after all, Junkrat,” she teased with a wink.

“Sure, sure, no need to get all cocky about it, limey.”

Tracer tutted at him, but couldn’t help but break into giggles when he grinned at her. She shook her head and continued, “No, really, you don’t have to go just because you lost a bet, Junkrat. It’s up to you.”

Junkrat scoffed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Who else is gonna laugh at my hilarious jokes? Certainly not _Roadhog_. Besides, working with you again will be a real… _blast from the past._ ”

Tracer levelled a deadpan expression at the Junker.

For three seconds.

Then the two of them cracked up at exactly the same time, laughing for so long their sides hurt even though, _honestly_ , the joke was _awful_.

When they finally settled down, they were sitting across from each other on the floor. Tracer had to wipe a few tears from her eyes, but once she did, she pulled something out from her jacket and handed it gently to Junkrat.

His eyes flickered between it and her a few times in quick succession. “You’re letting me…?”

“Yep! It’s all yours, tiger. Knock yourself out. Except, wait, no, don’t actually do that. And _no_ using it inside the base.”

Junkrat did her signature salute at her. Just yesterday, she would have thought it was mocking—but now, she took it as a compliment. “Promise!” He gazed at the pulse bomb with fondness. Tracer was surprised to see he still had that look when he raised his head towards her. Her expression softened and she shuffled closer to him to explain everything she knew about how her pulse bomb worked.

And if she was one step closer to making Overwatch an honour rather than a paycheck for Junkrat, well then, she called that a good day’s work.


End file.
